Trick or Treat
by esplanade
Summary: Forgive this quick, single draft, obligatory Halloween fic. It serves no real purpose except I felt like I had to write something for this nice little holiday.


"Shut up!"

John winced hearing the voice yelling down the stairs. Sherlock had been doing some variation of it all evening, every time there was a knock at the door or someone rang the bell. Despite John explaining multiple times that this would be a night-long occurrence, the detective had apparently not been listening, or deleted the information immediately after being told.

John rolled his eyes and put a smile on his face for the children on his doorstep, dressed in all their favorite Halloween attire. He and Mrs. Hudson had been spoiling every one of them that came to 221B all night. He couldn't help but genuinely smile when he saw them. They were all so happy and carefree, and he liked thinking that he sent them away even happier.

Sherlock, of course, was just irritated with them. He remained upstairs, sulking on the sofa, reading through his stack of scientific journals. Every few minutes, his concentration would be broken by that infernal pounding on the door.

He heard John's footsteps on the stairs, and didn't even wait for him to sit down before spitting out, "Who on earth keeps interrupting me? Has Mycroft hired out an army for that sole purpose?"

"We've been over this Sherlock. It's Halloween. The children are going trick or treating."

"Trick or _what_?" Sherlock gave a horrified twist of his face, like the words were repellent to even speak.

John sighed. "I have explained this to you so many times this week. I'm not doing it again unless you're actually going to listen."

Sherlock huffed out a sigh. "Fine." He crossed his arms over his chest and stared up at the ceiling.

"Tonight, all of the kids are going to be coming by, trick or treating. It's an American custom that caught on. They go house to house for sweets."

"Is it required by law that we participate in this nonsense?"

"No."

"Then why are we doing it?"

"Because it's nice, Sherlock. It makes the children happy. Mrs. Hudson and I, unlike you, enjoy seeing happy children."

"Oh, this is that thing where they dress in costume, isn't it?"

"Yes."

"Dreadful business. I never saw the point."

"I figured you'd take it as an opportunity to dress as a pirate," John said as he walked to the kitchen for a cup of tea. He smirked to himself.

Sherlock's head shot up, looking after John indignantly. "I would do no such thing."

"Sure, whatever you say. Just try not to scream when there's a knock at the door. We don't want to scare the kids."

"I thought that was part of this silly holiday?"

"Not at 221B, it isn't. No yelling." John turned and pointed an accusatory finger at his sullen flatmate.

"Fine. Only if you'll explain something."

John was hesitant. Sherlock wanting answers was usually setting them up for an argument. John remembered when he tried to explain Cleudo. It hadn't gone well.

"What do you want to know?"

"You give them sweets, yes? That would be the treat. What about trick?"

"No one really does that. It's just part of the phrase. It's just supposed to be an excuse to do something nice for kids and have a good time. It's better than some of the alternatives. Most adults just dress in awful outfits and drink too much, and then regret it in the morning."

"You'd think there would be a happy medium." Sherlock seemed genuinely puzzled.

"Well, there isn't. So it was either going out with Mike or Greg and being miserable or staying home and making children happy. It wasn't a difficult decision." John smiled a little and shrugged.

"Hmm."

"What?"

"Nothing, merely trying to understand the appeal. How does one go from sweets to drunken regrets when neither are all that attractive?"

"People have to have something to do, I suppose. Everyone celebrates differently. Just another holiday. Even you enjoy Christmas some."

"I enjoy it because you can deduce so much about someone from the gifts they give. It's an exquisite study in human behavior. As is Valentine's Day." Sherlock sat up, leaning his arms on his knees. "I suppose the same could be said for Halloween. People's choice of costume must be very telling."

"Good thing I don't take part in that aspect of it, then," John joked. He heard a knock at the door, and walked away to answer it.

Sherlock stood and walked to the window, looking out through the curtains. In front of 221B was a bevy of little children and a few of their parents. The children were all dressed as monsters and angels, the parents bundled up in street clothes. They all had smiles on their faces. He could just see John handing out treats to the gleeful little creatures. John was smiling too. He had that warm look on his face that he always got when he knew he'd made someone's day better. What it must have been like to have a mind as simple as that.

Even more amazing to Sherlock was that all these children had to do was _ask_. There was nothing they could give John except their smiles, and that was enough. They asked, and they received. Why couldn't everything be that easy, that logical? Sherlock liked the idea that all you had to do was ask. That sort of world would make things run so much smoother. There would be so much less red tape, so much less pointless dancing around things. It would streamline human interaction if people would think like that year round.

Sherlock turned as he heard John come back upstairs. "They just ask."

John stopped and furrowed his brow, confused. "Yeah, Sherlock, that's how it works...Oh, you've got that look again. I don't know what you're thinking, but whatever it is, don't do it. Like, you can't go by the morgue and ask Molly for body parts. She wouldn't be obligated to give them to you."

"Why would I do that?" John just raised his eyebrows at him. Sherlock rolled his eyes. "I don't ever ask for body parts. I take them and leave a note if I'm not too busy."

John let out a short groan and decided to leave his flatmate to his own devices.

Sherlock spent the rest of the night watching out the window as children came and went, always monitoring John's reactions. Mrs. Hudson came by at one point, but Sherlock didn't know what she'd wanted. He couldn't be bothered to pay attention to her tonight.

A few hours later, John came upstairs for good. He set down the remaining sweets on the side table. "Here's what was left. You're welcome to some if you'd like any." Sherlock eyed the sweets suspiciously as he resumed his seat on the sofa. "You need anything?" Sherlock gave a quick shake of his head. John thought he was still in a mood over being interrupted all night. "All right. I'm off to bed then, had a long day. Try not to blow up the kitchen, okay?" John didn't wait for any reply or confirmation. Sherlock never gave any anyway. After his confusion at how Halloween worked, he'd slipped into silence, in one of his trains of deep thought, and he hadn't been in a sharing mood. In all likelihood, Sherlock would probably still be sitting up, staring into space, thinking, when John came downstairs the next morning. One of the greatest minds of his generation, and he would spend hours puzzling over the concept of Halloween.

Around midnight, John was woken up by what sounded like a knock on the door. He rolled over, thinking he'd ignore it, if it was indeed real and not a sleepy hallucination, but he heard it again, more persistent. He sat up, confused and tired.

"Sherlock? What is it?" Who else would it be, after all? John rubbed at his eyes.

"John?"

"Yeah, what do you want?"

"Get up."

John stared at the closed door for a minute, considering going back to sleep. But Sherlock would just keep pestering him till he got up. So he stood and went to open the door. Sherlock was standing on the other side, hands in the pockets of his dressing gown.

"This better be good."

"Trick or treat?"

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"I think you're obligated by the principles of the holiday to not choose _trick_."

John was about to speak, but paused. Sherlock was staring down at him, head cocked to the side, waiting for a response. _Of course. The children only asked._

"Sweets bowl is downstairs."

"Wrong interpretation."

"Remember I said that adults did a lot of things they regretted in the morning?"

"Yes, well good thing we haven't spent the evening drinking and staring across crowded rooms like those idiots, then."

Perhaps if John had been more awake, he would have thought more before acting, but part of him was glad, because otherwise he might not have had the nerve to lean forward and kiss the man standing in front of him.

John stepped back a few paces, trying to gauge Sherlock's reaction. Sherlock smiled and immediately closed the new distance.

"You know, the flaw of this holiday is that it is one-sided giving. The person giving away the sweets never gets any in return. Sad, don't you think?"

"That's how it works."

"Not always." Sherlock arched an eyebrow.

John looked off to the side, trying to not become distracted by the gray eyes looking over his face. After what felt like ages of silence, he gave a short laugh and conceded. "Trick or treat, then?"

A mischievous light seemed to turn on behind Sherlock's eyes, and a smile spread across his face. He brushed his lips against John's cheek, and said in a low whisper. "Well, _treat_ seems to be working well so far, doesn't it?"


End file.
